


collapsing space (take up a little)

by thirteenghosts (newsbypostcard)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Trailer, M/M, Reunion, impending doom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/thirteenghosts
Summary: "Think this is the part where you remind me about those adjoining rooms waiting for us in Dieppe," he mutters, and Steve smiles; Bucky sets his lips to the corner of it, as though to hold it there. "Matter of time, right? War's gotta end eventually."





	collapsing space (take up a little)

**Author's Note:**

> This is speculation off the IW trailer. Steve and Bucky certainly were standing next to each other on the battlefield, so naturally my entire world was rocked, which is the standard we have come to expect from Marvel films. I glossed over the events I expect from Black Panther and Infinity War, neither of which are out at time of writing.
> 
> Ideas stolen from twitter exchanges specifically with [hyemi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vrooom) and [rebecca,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redcheekdays) but truly it was a group effort. Because I couldn't shut up about it for three straight days. They are kind and tolerant people.
> 
> Title is from "Walk It Back" by The National because, unfortunately, Sleep Well Beast is very much an applicable album.

  


*

  


  


The world's always falling to pieces these days, but Steve still should've predicted the flip phone would ring after news of the portal out of New York.

  


  


*

  


  


He calls T'Challa next.

"I know it's insane," Steve says, peering out the window as though expecting hordes of aliens to descend on them then and there, "but I don't want Bucky to sleep through the end of the world. If Wakanda falls—"

"Wakanda will not fall," T'Challa says evenly.

Steve takes a breath. "Highness, does Wakanda have the capability to counteract portals cutting through space? How about stones that can collapse the walls of time? The threat is galactic. Earth is—"

"You misunderstand me," T'Challa interjects. "If Earth is to make a last stand for its existence, my army is prepared. Our defenses are strong." Then he sighs, slow, like he's making a decision he doesn't like. "They are likely to come here regardless of your wishes. We may help each other—and the universe—if we are able to control the fight on Wakandan territory."

"T'Challa—I'm not following. Why would they come to Wakanda?"

"Because," T'Challa tells him, "I have what they are after."

  


  


*

  


  


They agree: T'Challa will wake Bucky up. Catch him up on the situation. Present him with the options; ask if he wants to see it through or go back to sleep and hope for the best.

"Can you," Steve says, then shuts his eyes and turns his face to the floor. "Could you ask him to—I dunno, hold on until I can talk to him? Just to say hi, I guess, if he—if he'd rather—"

"Unless our attackers arrive," T'Challa says, "I will see to it myself."

"You know," Natasha says after Steve's hung up, using a voice that's meant to be offhand but isn't, "he doesn't seem the type just to go under again without seeing you. Not if the world is ending." She's folding her clothes into a bag. Steve realizes he's never seen her pack before. 

"He might if he thinks I'm going to try to change his mind."

"And are you?"

Steve looks at her from where he's leaning on the windowsill, one hand white and fisted at his leg.

"Well," Natasha says, when Steve doesn't say anything. "At least you'll get to see him again. You know. Before everything." Her lip quirks, gaze finding the floor. She turns away again, packing whatever feeling she might've had away along with her chemise. "That's something, right?"

Steve remembers sitting at home after Bucky was deployed, looking around at the things Bucky'd bought—at all the things he'd left behind. All that furniture he'd never see again, unless Steve found a way to get him home.

"Yeah," Steve says, but it sounds hollow. He gets to his feet. "It's something, alright."

  


  


*

  


  


Steve sleeps on the plane and dreams of Bucky, strapped down and suffocating in a pod without power. He wakes and imagines Bucky discovered in Wakandan ruins, awoken by aliens exploring an abandoned Earth. He thinks of Charlton Heston, the Omega Man, the last human left in a sea of creatures who want to use him for experimentation.

He doesn't want Bucky to have to fight, but even more than that, he doesn't want Bucky to be the last one left behind. If they happen to fail.

This time, they might fail.

  


  


*

  


  


From the plane, they board a helicopter and land directly atop the palace, as they did when T'Challa first brought them here. The King himself greets them as they land, flanked by guards on either side. They never seem to leave him, even in the palace. "Can never be too careful," he tells Steve's craning head.

They get a quick and dirty rundown of a civil conflict T'Challa fought here three months earlier Steve had no idea about. T'Challa was trying to keep the gem out of the hands of one who would take the throne. "I fear the conflict may have brought unwanted attention to the gem's whereabouts," T'Challa says, and then raises an eyebrow as Steve leans into the hall.

He'd swear he saw someone flash by. That's all.

T'Challa hums, then glances at a clock on the wall. "It is likely Barnes has recovered by now. His procedure was successful—"

Steve's attention finds focus. "Procedure?"

"On being informed of the situation, Barnes consented to a surgery to affix a new prosthetic. He should be in testing now."

Steve blinks over to Natasha, who rolls her eyes before he can say anything. "Go," she says. "Sam's on his way, we'll fill you in."

Steve doesn't need to be told twice.

  


  


*

  


  


Steve sees him through the window, having his shoulder worked over by a pair of nurses. In the corner, a guard stands ready; she may as well not be there at all. Bucky's watching the way his arm's made to move, plated silver with gold streaks, and—it's beautiful. He's beautiful. His eyes are bright and he's answering questions and Steve's heart feels full to burst. 

Bucky catches his eye before Steve finds his courage. He must look like an idiot, like a willing captive of his heart.

Bucky smiles. It's slight. He looks tired, even from here. _Nice,_ he mouths, rubbing at his own chin.

Steve smiles, too. "What, you don't want to match?" 

Bucky surprises him with a breaking laugh. Steve can hear it—the way it hacks in his chest. "You coming in or not?" Bucky asks, and Steve's legs creak to life, but he doesn't get far. He stalls halfway across the room. He doesn't want to crowd him. Two hovering nurses seem like enough. 

"You alright?" he asks instead. He shoves his hands in his pockets to give them somewhere to be.

"Not bad," Bucky sighs, "considering my day so far. Think Ayo's almost done here."

"How's it feel?"

"Good," he says. Ayo guides a rolling elbow. "Moves well, lightweight. Less problems than before."

"You had problems before?"

"With the slats," Bucky says, and pulls a face. "You wouldn't believe the shit that got caught in there. Stark did me a favour."

Steve knows better, but he doesn't argue. He watches the nurses work until they finally withdraw, clipboards and all. The guard takes the cue and withdraws with them, moving to stand out in the hall. Steve hears the doors hiss shut behind her.

Neither of them moves. Bucky takes in the look of him, while Steve stands there waiting for something to hit.

"So how bad is it?" Bucky rasps. "Can't help but feel like I got the kid-gloves version when they woke me up."

Steve doesn't have an answer. He holds Bucky's eye until the silence turns blistering.

Bucky gets the gist. "That bad, huh?"

"It's… pretty bad."

Bucky's fingers dig tense into the clinic bed's thin mattress. He looks aside, taking in a slow breath. "Break it down for me," he croaks, then clears his throat. "Aliens want a gem. T'Challa has the gem."

"T'Challa has _that_ gem," Steve says. "There are still five others. Talking to Stark, it sounds like the forces at hand are looking for them all. Three of them are on Earth. It's already…" He lacks the words. "New York," he tries again, but gives up and shrugs. "We've already suffered significant losses, and they're only gaining ground. We don't know what kind of army they're going to bring through those gates, and that's before we even take into account—God, I don't remember— _dimensional folding_...?"

Bucky's eyes pinch at the corners. "Dimensional what now?"

"I don't know. All I got from it was that we'll be lucky if _everyone_ on Earth doesn't get annihilated pretty quick. They're planning carnage, they wanna raze it all down. It'll be hard to miss what they're looking for when there's nothing left to stand in their way."

Bucky raises his chin. The truth hangs heavy between them, unsaid: _We're the things standing between the world and annihilation._

"I couldn't," Steve says, when he's left his heart to beat alone for too long. "I don't... The front lines are gonna be a mess, even if T'Challa swears his army's the best in the world."

"If the ship's going down," Bucky says, and Steve nods.

"I wasn't sure whether or not to wake you."

"You made the right call."

"Just couldn't stand the thought of you finding out too late that the world ended around you. Without…" A twinge in it, finally. Steve blinks and swallows it down. "Without knowing what happened."

Bucky's gaze turns sharp on a dime.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find what you needed," Steve says, before he loses his nerve. "I tried. I was trying right up until this morning, but it—it's not simple. I wish I—"

"Steve," Bucky warns.

"I didn't abandon you."

Bucky's features collapse. "Shut the fuck up."

Steve purses his lips. Bucky stares, then shakes his head at him. "You actually saying goodbye, here?" he rasps. "Is that where we're at?"

Steve tries to fight emotion back down, but in the end he can't help the sorry smile hinting on his lips. "I just know what tops my list of regrets," he says, offering a careful shrug.

Bucky looks him up and down, like he's not sure what he's looking at. Like he's not sure he knows him anymore. "Don't do that. You can't—" It breaks off. "Come on now. You're the believer here, you—" It breaks off again. Bucky gives a noise of frustration and throws himself off the bed before Steve can tell him not to do it, crowding Steve's space in four steady strides. His hands bunch furious in the folds of Steve's collar whether Steve wants him there or not. 

He wants him there.

"You don't die that easy," Bucky grits out. "Neither one of us does, so you'd better get a goddamned grip—"

But Steve barely hears him. All he knows is that his hip feels the same under his palm; two years later and Steve's fingers settle at the back of his neck just the way they always have. He leans his face close to feel him there. Bucky's alive; Bucky's fighting, he's a hair's breadth from fighting _him_ , and Steve wishes he would. God, he wishes they had time to really get into it. He wishes they could shout at each other until their throats ran raw, to feel the planes of Bucky's body shift, to lie beneath him, overtop. To bury himself in the heat of him one more time.

But they don't have time. They can't afford the luxury. Bucky smells like a clinic, sour with anesthetic, until his hand claps at the back of Steve's neck and all Steve smells is the mint of his mouth. 

The gesture is firm. He thinks Bucky meant to say something—intent hangs in the air, but the words never drags out of him. They never drag out of Steve, either. They stand there instead, a pair gripping at each other, their foreheads creasing and ironing out, swaying in unison in a bright, white expanse.

"I missed you, Buck," Steve grits out. At least that's true. 

In the back of his throat, Bucky sounds his acknowledgement. 

Steve can't help it anymore—he kisses him, chasing the sound. He doesn't seek more, just stops at the contact, holding Bucky's lips in place with his own. It's slow and sensuous, barely anything at all. Bucky lets him hold it; draws it out the same. His anger's already gone, replaced with this sorrow. His hands slip easy under the hem of Steve's shirt—set against his hip, at his back, to hold.

"Take this to mean you're gonna fight," Steve says at last, thumb brushing at his jaw when he finally pulls away.

"No, dumbass. I got the surgery for sport." 

Steve smiles, or thinks he does. Bucky glances his mouth against Steve's without kissing. "People waiting for us?"

"Natasha," Steve says, and accepts it easy when Bucky does kiss him. It's a little deeper than before, but not by much. "T'Challa. Sam's on his way."

"That it?" Bucky says. He kisses him again. More intention, this time. His arm crooks heavy around the back of Steve's neck.

"Uh," says Steve. Suddenly all he wants is to devour him whole. He hadn't before; he wasn't sure they could, but they must have time. There must be time enough for this. 

He slides a foot backwards. Bucky follows, easy, keeping Steve close. He has the same idea. "They seem to expect—"

"Reunion time?" Bucky asks, and Steve nods slow, the tip of his nose rubbing at Bucky's cheek. His mouth falls open with a hot surge of want, and—

Bucky kisses him by way of reply. Steve's fingers dig deep into locks of Bucky's hair. Steve holds him close; there's not enough of him to touch. Bucky guides them, swerves them around until they're out of the view of windows, until the backs of his thighs hit against some shelf and his hand splays back to catch his fall. 

He settles there, feet stepping apart, fingers at Bucky's hip again, pulling him in until he's close as he can get. Bucky holds him down. He leans over Steve and kisses him proper and Steve's head tips back; he's been made small again. He's so gloriously fragile in Bucky's good hands. Bucky offers and wants; Steve wants and takes. Emotion crawls slowly through him until it breaks out of him in the form of a moan. 

Bucky's whispering something as he brings them off, but Steve doesn't hear him over the doomsday klaxon sounding off in his ears. It doesn't matter. The shape of the words live on in his skin. He'd know them anywhere.

It's the strangest end to the line they could've found.

  


  


*

  


  


In the end, Bucky convinces him, when they go to suit up.

Steve gets a uniform. Bucky gets… a tactical vest. 

Steve frowns at him. "Don't tell me that's it."

"You really about to get smart with me on appropriate armour?" Bucky says. "When's your outfit ever had shielding?"

"It's not an _outfit_ , first of all, and I have the shield. I don't need armour."

"If anyone needs armour, it's you. I noticed there's only the one gun; you planning on punching the aliens to death?"

"Not exclusively."

Bucky sighs hard and looks at him, frank. "I know you know how to use them. I've _seen_ you use them. Now might be the time—"

"I'm not gonna change my fighting style now."

"I don't think an automatic weapon is anything other than a bright idea."

"Unless the other guy gets a hold of it," Steve says firmly, "then it's a massacre."

"It's gonna be a massacre anyway."

"I'm not gonna help them kill us all," Steve says, louder. "Leave it alone. Would you? For today?"

Bucky looks at him, jaw squared. He's exhausted at the edges. Steve deflates in one. 

He doesn't want to fight. He can't remember the last time he wanted to fight. He reaches out and sets his fingers at the palm of Bucky's prosthetic, seeking peace. 

It's smooth as porcelain. Steve is sucked in. He steps closer again, facing him, until his fingers can trace along its ribbons of gold. 

Bucky shuts his eyes. It's in the tenderness of it, Steve knows. 

"You ask for this?" Steve murmurs, low.

Bucky nods. "Wanted more than a battering ram."

Steve nods, too, palm wrapping at smooth sheen. He looks up at Bucky, but he can't find the words.

"Don't know why you're worried," Bucky says as he finally pulls free. "Thing's still bulletproof."

"The rest of you isn't."

"No shit, jackass. I can still block."

"That's bound to be effective," Steve says blandly, and Bucky pushes his shoulder hard enough to put him off his balance. "Just stay close to me," Steve says, "and we'll move together. I'll keep you covered."

Bucky snorts. Steve turns back, fast. "C'mon, Buck," he says, bright. "Don't you trust me?"

"You, to play it safe in a fight? Not on your life, Rogers. You can take that to the bank."

Steve grins as he stoops to pick up his shield. He doesn't even look at it before setting it at his back. It belongs there as much as the stone in his gut. 

He claps Bucky on the back and moves to the door. 

His feet drag him still. 

He doesn't want to leave this room. Suddenly he'd do just about anything not to have to walk out that door. He wants to turn to Bucky and tell him to run. 

Instead he turns to look at him as he fusses with the fit of the vest on his frame. Bucky's not looking back—but he still doesn't flinch when Steve reaches out. Bucky'd expected it; Steve hadn't. 

Standing here now, Steve thinks irrationally that Bucky might be the key to waking up from all this.

Bucky finally blinks up to him, eyes grey and neutral. He reaches his fingers to link with the strap of Steve's harness. "We got a job to do, Rogers," Bucky mutters, tugging him in. "Same thing as always. Same as a million other jobs."

Steve nods, solemn, and lets out a breath. Bucky shuffles closer; wraps his fingers at the back of Steve's neck. "Think this is the part where you remind me about those adjoining rooms waiting for us in Dieppe," he says, and Steve smiles; Bucky sets his lips to the corner of it, as though to hold it there. "Matter of time, right? War's gotta end eventually."

Something breaks in Steve's throat and he's kissing him before he really means to, desperate to go back to when he thought that was true. Bucky leans in as though to give it to him, pulling Steve in by the harness Steve had sworn he'd never don again. 

For a second, Bucky against him, Steve feels awake. Like there's no one waiting on them to save the world.

"One room," Steve murmurs finally, without letting go of him. He so much wishes he didn't have to let go. "We get out of here, we get one room in Dieppe. If we get split up…" He sighs hard, shaky. "We'll meet up there."

"Rendezvous point."

"World can't end now."

A smile flickers on Bucky's face before Bucky's licked it away again, and then his fingers slip out from against Steve's chest. He takes a weary step back, holding Steve's eye, and then crouches, slow, to take the gun from against the wall. "Kind of incredible, when you think about it," Bucky murmurs, opening the chamber to check the load. "After all that, we're just soldiers in an army again."

Steve glances an affectionate hand at Bucky's hairline just one more time. "Maybe we'll get it right for once," he replies in hope; and, side by side, they walk out together into the jaws of the beast.

  



End file.
